


CATAWAMPUS

by GeekyKristie



Category: HF0 - Fandom, Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Angst, Case Fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-10-03
Updated: 2011-10-03
Packaged: 2017-10-24 06:44:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/260292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeekyKristie/pseuds/GeekyKristie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Five-0 team is being targeted by an unknown assailant and has to keep a low profile, resulting in some (unwanted?) team bonding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	CATAWAMPUS

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own any of these characters as they exist on TV – but I sure as hell own these characters that I have created by bouncing off what I know and love about the TV show. So don’t you dare steal my shit CBS! *Poker face*

There was little left to think of anymore but that didn’t seem to matter. It is always madding to try to stop yourself from thinking, to try and capture a void of thought – doubly so for someone who has practiced meditation. Steve McGarrett was completely unable to fall asleep because his brain wouldn’t stop thinking; remembering; replaying insignificant moments in his life while simultaneously coming up with scenarios and hypothetical instances of an impossible future. He could never get the hang of meditation.

Disappointed in himself Steve got up and violently flicked his bed room light on. He stood in his boxers next to his bed for a while, hands on his hips, his gaze down at the floor.

Moving into his parents’ bedroom had been easy. Living in the house and working in the very study where his father was murdered was surprisingly comfortable as well. When it came to his house, this old familiar place, Steve had decided to move in and live much like he had when he was growing up; detached.

No one but Steve would really be able to tell that in the year and a half since he had moved in the landscaping had gotten lax. The dour poeticness of the fact that without his father the back yard was as always the same, but just a little bit browner wasn’t lost on Steve – but it didn’t cause him to meticulously preserve the house’s former state of meticulously trimmed and watered glory either. The tree branches were now a bit wilder, the walk way and drive way a bit unkempt, but things didn’t get out of hand. Once a month a guy would come over and tidy up the McGarrett abode. The sprinkler system Steve splurged on took care of the rest. When Kono had complimented him on the properties’ Kukui Nut trees he took the credit for it. At the time he didn’t dwell on what having done that “meant” and he certainly didn’t want to dwell on it now.

Steve turned off the light and laid back down on the bed, but the second his head hit his pillow he knew he would be even worse off than before.

“Fuuuuuufff-”

Bounding out of bed he caught himself from swearing. He had let off a slew of momentary sailor explicitness in front of Gracie at the start of the month and her look of shock had struck him more than he ever thought the simple disappointment of a child could, not to mention the face Danny had given him. Since then he was working on reeling in his swearing; saving “bastard”, “damn”, and “ass” for time to time usage  but trying to cut out on the “worst words” (as Gracie had put it) completely. Even alone in his house at 2 in the morning, evidently. His slurred swear turned into an aggravated grunt as he started down the hall.

Having a night cap wasn’t a habit or something Steve did often; mainly he was bored, antsy, annoyed, and tired all at once and sometimes alcohol can sooth those things and invite sleep if you’re very, very lucky. Turning on the lights as he came into the kitchen he grabbed his one and only shot glass and put it on the counter. About a month after returning to Hawaii he had ran into an ABC store to get a shot glass one day while in Waikiki. As Steve poured vodka into the rainbow adorned glass he recalled the hassle Danny had given him for buying it while on duty.

“Really? Really?! This novelty, this crappy little shot glass, was so important you wandered off after a shooting to get it? Dare I say – did the shooting rattle you? Have you been rattled? Do you have a flask? I ask because I have been apprehensive about bring up what you could possibly need 6 pockets on a pair of pants for but if you’re smuggling a flask around I’m going to go ahead and assume this shot glass is for me as you know I’d never want to share a bottle with you for fear of getting neanderthal kooties.”

Steve blinked quickly and shook his head.

“… Wow. I just – you know of all the rants you like to do Danny, so far that one was the worst. I mean what are you – what are you? –“

Danny closed his eyes and propped an arm up on the windowsill of the passenger’s side of the Camaro, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah, I know.” He said, giving a barely auditable sigh. “I… I _was_ rattled. Uh, just, some days like this - this job floors me. Not during the dangerous bit but now, I mean later. Adrenaline, training, and the desire to bag the punks shooting on a crowded beach keeps me level, you know? But sometimes, afterwards,” His partner placed his hands on the dashboard for a moment then quickly brought his hands towards his chest, “it just hits me. I’ve got Grace. I will never be OK with the idea of having some pot dealer with ideas of grandeur being the thing that takes me out of her life.” They then drove on in relative silence and parted ways after getting back to Five-0 headquarters; Steve hadn’t bothered explaining his purchase as Danny hadn’t pressed the matter.  

Steve pounded the shot back and it made him shiver. He had bought the glass because there wasn’t one in the house. His father never drank hard liquor and so never had a reason to have one. Steve liked beer and wine, the occasional mix drink, but secretly he liked cheap vodka. After watching _Indiana Jones_ obsessively one summer growing up, the ability to hold one’s own in a vodka contest was considered by  him a talent, one Steve had actually worked on while in the Navy and now he just liked having a bottle around.

One more shot was poured then the lights turned off. Steve headed back to the master bedroom, shot glass in hand. Some compulsion stopped him at his old bed room. He stared at the door, he didn’t remember shutting it but there it was closed. He wondered how many times his father walked by to this very sight. Steve placed a hand on the door knob, then his head on the door; the full shot glass in the other hand. Making up his mind he opened it and walked inside.

The bed was missing. Completely nonplused about living in a murder house filled to the brim with complicated adolescent memories - but not sleeping in his own bed had been a deal breaker. Getting rid of his father’s bed and moving in his was the first thing Steve did. He made the argument to himself that it was a symbolic gesture but he knew damn well it was primarily because it was a comfortable bed and one of the few things he considered truly constant in his life; it was there when he had left and it was there when he came back. With a deep exhale he hoped would work as an exorcism to the continued onslaught of unwanted thoughts, Steve sat down on the floor where his bed had been. With his back against the wall and shot glass in his hand resting on a raised knee Steve looked around the room.

In a moment of uncharacteristic self-consciousness he had removed the few remaining posters that had adorned the walls when it became apparent that Danny was going to make it a habit of entering unannounced. The posters had been keeping watch at their assigned posts for so long that even now he swore it could see their faded outlines in varying shades of grey. Or that could just be all him, as he was now the only person left to ever know where they had been in the first place.

Of course there was Mary Ann, but she hadn’t stayed in his room during her time back home (he was currently atop the hard wood floor instead of a mattress after all) and it was doubtful she would have remembered from before she was sent away. All this essentially summed up a problem he had with his sister – and was in and of its self a part of a larger grievance he had with himself.

“God…”

Was this penance? Was this cosmic debt? Confidence, job security, friends, an impressive skill set and self-worth, but at least once every month he had to feel like a shitty son and brother?

Suddenly aware of the still full shot glass Steve sat up and leaned forward, held the glass in front of him and gave a nod to the spot on the ceiling were John McClane used to watch over him.

***

It was a rare occasion but Danny felt compelled from time to time to knock on his partner’s front door before entering it. This turned out, as he had always assumed, to be a completely useless gesture.

“Hello?” he knocked again.

Danny dug around in his pockets for his keys. Steve’s blue Silverado wasn’t parked in the drive way, but it might be in the garage.

“Asks me to pick him up early, and for what? I swear if he went to the office without telling me again…” Danny muttered to himself as he turned his copy of the McGarrett residence key. He was primarily venting because Steve always teased him about barging into his house, and here he was attempting to prove that he in fact did know how to knock and was being ignored.

Upon entering the house he saw Steve’s tan timberland boots by the door along with a pile of flip-flops. A large pile. The thought occurred to him that Steve’s father’s shoes were still right here by the door, waiting. Hell, Steve’s own shoes from god knows how far back might still be here. An involuntary smile flickered across his face as he remembered a 20 minute argument he had with Steve only a week ago about “flip-flops” versus “slippers”. Everyone in the islands, Steve claimed, called flip-flops slippers (or more correctly, “slippahs”) and slippers house shoes or house slippers. This relay of information had made no sense to Danny and he had argued that if such a thing was indeed true that only worked to further his notion that Hawaii was not an island out in the Pacific Ocean but in actuality an entirely different planet.

“Hello?” Danny repeated as he moved into the dining room, standing at the base of the stairs. “Steve...?”

Danny’s raised eyebrow was confronted by silence. Just at that moment he remembered the alarm system Steve had put in. With a quick curse he took two steps back towards the front door before remembering the system was on the wall in the hall way beside the stairs. Spinning around he quickly punched in the code. This armed the system with two little bleeps.

“System _armed_? Oh come on!”

Danny punched in the numbers again, shooting a nasty look towards the stairs. He walked half way up them and called out loudly.

“Oi! Sailor McNinja, are we awake?”

A muffled rustling sound was all that answered.

“Ah-hah!”

Danny walked to Steve’s bedroom and swung open the door, but the bed was empty. So was the master bathroom. Brow furrowed Danny automatically shifted into detective mode, his posture righting its self, his chin held a little lower. He walked back down the hall and looked into the guest bedroom, then the hallway bathroom, and finally the room closest to the stairs.

There on the floor, slumped over was Steve. A momentary flash of heightened concern caused Danny’s face to contort and for a brief moment his stomach dropped. He licked his lips quickly and in his most perfectly neutral inside voice simply stated, “Steve.”

The mass of muscle on the floor contracted. Steve groggily opened his eyes, blinking profusely. He had slept on his arm, his shoulder and neck visibly stiff and unresponsive at his initial attempt to move.

“What are you doing?” Steve asked.

Danny’s stomach loosed with relief but his tone was of abject annoyance. “What am _I_ doing? I’m here to pick you up. What are you doing? Is this some kind of training you do? Do you like to sleep uncomfortably on the floor?” He put his hands in his pockets and stared at his partner.

Steve shot Danny a squinty eyed grimace, inhaling quickly.

“No. I couldn’t sleep and… Just. W-what have I told you about knocking?”

Danny looked down at the floor smiling while Steve sat up and rubbed his left shoulder. Danny shook his head.

“Ohhhh no-no-no-noooo. No sir.”

Out shot Danny’s hands from his pockets, dictating his speech, “I knocked. Today I knocked. I knocked loudly!” He mimicked the action of knocking for Steve. “I even, cartoonishly, said ‘hello!’ to your front door. The front door which did not open after my knocking on it. So here I am, witnessing… Whatever this is.”

Steve stood up arching his back. He then bent forward to stretch, grabbing the back of his ankles and pulling his torso towards his knees. He nabbed the toppled shot glass on his way back up.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about Danno.” He said trying to get past Danny, who in turn blocked the door way.

“You don’t – haha! – You don’t know what I’m talking about? Okay. Well this, this isn’t one of those things were you get to just write off or act like I’m the weird one over; this-” Danny’s arms flew over his head as he swiveled his body, indicating the entire bedroom, “is going to have to come with some explanation. And, are you holding a shot glass?”

Steve put his hands on Danny’s shoulders, griping the shot glass between his right thumb and pointer finger, and moved him aside.

“This is a shot glass. The famous shot glass of - I think it was our third beach shooting?” He took a beat, “Wow, that is so messed up.” Steve shook the creeping notion that violence was escalating in his islands out of his head and then wiggled the glass in front of Danny’s face as he sidestepped past him, “The one and only.” Danny made a face and swatted at Steve’s hand.

“What is the matter with you?” he asked very seriously, but Steve didn’t answer.

Danny followed him into the hall way and the master bedroom. He sat down on the edge of the bed with one leg under him as his partner got dressed.

“Should I be concerned, Steven?”

Steve gave a slight roll of his eyes and stepped into a pair of black cargo pants he pulled from his dresser.

“I’ve never known you to not be concerned about something, so when I tell you no you don’t need to be concerned about my one shot glass and my sleeping habits – although admittedly this morning probably didn’t look too good from your perspective – you’re probably going to just be _loudly_ concerned anyways.”

Danny raised a hand and frowned but did not push the matter, lowering his hand back into his lap. Danny knew that Steve would know he was simply being contrary, that he did want to ask another 10 questions but at the same time felt compelled to prove his partner’s assertion wrong. Sometimes Danny wondered if such instances were some kind of super-seal Jedi mind trick Steve pulled every once in a while, or if he himself really was that childish.

“You had a late night drink and fell asleep in a room you thought was yours. A room without a bed. If that is a normal night, then okay.”

Steve pulled a simple cotton shirt over his head and threw a pillow that had fallen onto the floor back on the bed.

“That is my room actually. Well, my old room. I, uh, can’t find my belt.”

Danny rose and looked around on the floor on the side of the bed he had been sitting, then turned and looked at the closet. He slid back the door and peered inside.

“I’ll knock it all up to simple confusion and a twinge of nostalgia then,” he said as he picked a belt up off the closet floor and handed it to his partner. Steve uttered simple thanks then went into the bathroom. He called back out;

“So why the early morning wakeup call? 

“Oh, I just wanted to stop by and give you a bright sunny face to start your day. I knew you were home.”

“Did you?”

“Yeah. I-um, I saw your shoes by the door in an unruly pile of what I assume to be a prehistoric graveyard of McGarrett foot ware. God forbid you leave the house wearing anything but steal-toe boots.”

Steve grinned widely into the mirror, “Wow. That is some Sherlockian detective work there babe.”

The sound of a popped deodorant cap followed by vigorously brushed teeth emitted from the bathroom. Danny smiled.

“Yes – yes, I am a rival to Mr. Holmes, although a bit of a cheat as you did text me at 3 in the morning telling me to come pick you up around seven-ish and I made the assumption that meant you would be here. You complete dolt.”

Steve appeared in the door way, white foam omitting from the sides of his mouth and very obviously confused. Danny stared blankly as Steve took the toothbrush out of his mouth and held it but didn’t say anything.

Danny frowned, “You have aneurism face, why do you have aneurism face?”

Steve turned and went back into the bathroom with running water and spitting following his disappearance. A thought struck Danny which caused him to stand up a bit straighter, shifting his weight from one foot to the next.

“Whoa,” Danny exclaimed, putting both of his hands out in front of him and shifting his weight again. “Whoa. Did you - did you drunk text me?” Suppressing an amused smile he pulled out his cell phone and queued up the text, holding out his phone as Steve emerged. Steve took the phone from Danny as he walked past and looked at it, brow furred profusely.

“I didn’t send this.”

“Uh, well, I think you’ll notice that you did.”

“I get that this is from me or that it is saying it is from me - but I didn’t send this.”

“… Just how drunk were you exactly? ‘Cause - ”

Steve cut Danny off by thrusting his phone back at him. He stretched himself out over his bed and yanked his phone from the opposing nightstand unplugging it. He queued up his message box then tossed it over at Danny as he righted himself and sat on the edge of the bed to put socks on.

“I didn’t send you a text,” he repeated.

Danny’s chest intercepted the phone which he barely caught before it fell onto the hardwood floor. He shot Steve a look of disapproval which he didn’t receive as he was too busy putting on what Danny thought looked like a pair of dirty socks. He looked at the phone and then compared it to his own for good measure.

“Well. That is unsettling.”

“Aw, don’t worry Danno – I think of you constantly when I’m drunk,” Steve teased, smiling widely. “I just wasn’t drunk last night, and I very vividly remember _not_ sending you a text.”

Still comparing the phones, one in each hand, Danny let an eyebrow pop as he was unsure of what that last comment meant. When he looked up Steve’s torso was a mere foot from his face. Hands on his hips, legs unnecessarily far apart, and as always completely unaware of personal space; Steve McGarrett was ready for the day. Danny gave a short exhale and handed his partner back his phone.

Glass shattered as a bullet broke the conversation.

The initial shock caused Danny to hesitate whereas Steve hit the floor so fast Danny would later claim he did so preemptively. The shot was instantly followed by another two rounds, one of which skimmed Danny’s neck causing him to hiss and slap a hand on the wound which resulted in a complete lack of control as he slipped on shards of glass and fell onto his back. Steve sat up and started pulling himself over to Danny as another four rounds hit the wall behind them.

“Hey- HEY! You okay?!”

Danny just nodded while Steve scooted closer and crouched over him. He grabbed Danny’s hand and carefully pulled - signifying he wanted to check the damage - while with his other hand he unholstered the gun from his partner’s belt. Danny lifted his palm slightly and Steve tilted his head down close to get a look.

“You’re fine, you’re fine!” Steve reported but his face remained intensely blank as he briefly lowered his head onto Danny’s chest before cupping his hand over Danny’s and applying pressure back on to the wound.

“W-we g-g-gotta get -” Danny sputtered before coughing up what felt like hot coals. He could tell blood was seeping in-between his fingers and down his hand. He swallowed and then again and again. He tried to find his voice but merely gasped instead. Steve was looking intently towards the window where the first volley of shots had come from, gun held steadily with one hand as his other was still pressed against Danny’s hand and neck. Danny pulled on Steve’s shirt to get his attention, but Steve turned his head only slightly and looked down at Danny from the very corner of his eye. Danny tried speaking again but to no avail. Grimacing at the pain of the attempt he lightly lifted his head and then let it drop back onto the floor, his blond hair loosening from its tight comb back. This action caused Steve to momentarily turn his full attention onto his friend.

When their eyes locked Danny was hoping the unspoken communication they seemed to possess (which they never, ever talked about) would work if only one last time. Steve started to turn his head back to the window when Danny managed to keep his gaze for a flicker of a second.

 _We have to get out of here! Come on Steve. Come on!_ Danny thought. Steve shut his eyes and exhaled, looking fiercely back out the window.

Danny would not refute the notion that his partner was a terribly close friend, and the best possible person he could think of to be saddled with in a situation exactly like this. Steve had nerves of steel, an innate sense of justice, and was a terribly compassionate man; but he was also a ramboesque animal. Danny knew that Steve reciprocated his feelings of respect, he knew that Steve viewed him as a friend and confidant and a great co-worker, but: That wouldn’t necessarily stop his insane thirst for immediate vengeance, which could very likely end with Danny bleeding out on the floor and bumping the number of murders within the McGarrett household up to two.

Another 4 shots rained through the window. Steve turned and covered his face as a round caught the windowsill and sent an impressive barrage of dried splintered wood their way. He locked eyes with Danny again.

 _Steve, please let it go. Let it go!_ Danny pleaded. Steve’s glare softened as he took a deep breath in and gave a single nod. He positioned himself behind his injured partner after putting the gun back into Danny’s holster. Grabbing him by his under arms Steve paused momentarily, awaiting another volley of fire.

“I’m going to pull you back into the hallway and then we’re both gonna get up and take whatever comes at us from there,” he stated calmly but with an undercurrent of unease.

Steve started to pull Danny towards the bedroom door. “When we get into the hall, keep your one hand on your neck – we’re going to sling your other arm over my shoulders and we’re going to make a run for the front yard.”

Danny nodded and then with his free hand gave what he hoped would be understood as a sarcastic thumbs up. Steve made a tsk sound with his tongue as he pulled Danny over the threshold and into the hallway, “Right; front yard because I think by the lack of slope to the shots and the rather bad aim that we’re being targeted from a fair distance and possibly without a scope – it has got to be only one person or we’d be dead by now if we were surrounded or if this was just some kind of distraction.”

Danny responded by taking the chance of removing his hand from his neck in order to give two sarcastic thumbs up.  

“God! Alright!” Steve grunted although Danny could hear the brief smile on his face. Danny was pulled to his feet and Steve positioned himself on the side of his free arm. Steve then wrapped his arm around Danny’s hip and held on to his wrist with his other hand.

Danny swallowed hard and shook his head lightly. Upon standing his wound started to feel serious and the situation became just a bit more terrifying with a swimming head and the feeling of his heart beating in his eyes which was making his focus pulsate. He was also now hyper aware of the thick amount of perspiration on his face which stung his eyes and mixed with his blood causing his hand to feel extra slick and his stomach queasy. Danny shook his head more forcefully and gripped Steve’s shoulder tightly. Steve squeezed Danny’s wrist back in return. 

“I know. Come on.”

The hallway bended as Danny hobbled, increasingly putting more weight up against Steve. By the time they had reached the bottom of the stairs he was shocked that somehow he could keep his legs working, or maybe Steve was practically carrying him at that point. Steve was saying something to Danny. In fact he wouldn’t stop talking. In a fiercely intense moment of panic Danny tried to call out for Grace but couldn’t. A loud slam and he realized Steve was sliding over the hood of his Camero to get into the driver’s seat. Steve peeled out of the driveway in a nauseating reverse turn and then reached over and took Danny’s hand, raising it up and pressing it against Danny’s throat while he drove with his left hand.

Danny slouched down in his seat and tiredly looked up at his friend. _You will be cleaning the upholstery_.

Steve returned his look with the saddest smile Danny had ever seen.   

**Author's Note:**

> John McClane is the main character in the Die Hard films. In my head!cannon Steve worships at his crazy-sauce alter.
> 
> “Slippahs” is how local people pronounce “slipper” which I suppose are more widely known as “flip-flops”. I personally detest the term “flip-flops” and have actually had arguments about the word. I cringed when Chin Ho (supposedly a local boy for his entire life) used it in episode six of season one, "Koʻolauloa". Daniel Dae Kim tweeted after the episode aired that they shot two versions of the scene (one slipper, one flip-flop) and flip-flop wound up in the final edit because the wider US audience would not understand what he was saying. I like to think you all would have gotten it though, even without having read my sad little fic. ;D
> 
> And, I don’t know shit about angle trajectory or guns other then what I have learned from video games (lawl). I literally just made up some stuff that I thought sounded alright.
> 
> Thank you again to [Pookie Face](http://bowtied-jamhands.tumblr.com/) for beta reading.
> 
> Any feedback whatsoever would be greatly, greatly appreciated - this is my first piece of fan fiction.


End file.
